All of the pages, all of the words, – – – they are all transient, and I prefer Galileo’s theory of the solar system to that of the Pope, who argued, or pretended to argue, that the writing of a fact is the act of the heretic.

The interior text shares its name with this book. Its paternity can be traced to Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche‘s Human; All too Human with snippets of other’s stories woven into the warp and the woof.

The story observes, I believe, none of the conventions of our time; a time consumed by political correctness and organized religion.

The book thrives in the inferred details that writers are mandated to contrive. These details are vague; at best.